Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Advice Requested

How can you tell if you're being paranoid, or if your intuition finally woke the fuck up and is sending out the alarm?

Seriously. Feel free to comment. I'm having some trouble with this one.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Misanthropy Briefs: Danke

People of Earth:

I'd like to thank you for continually validating the absolute worst things I believe about myself. It teaches me to never hope that I could be proved wrong, that maybe I'm not a monster. How naïve of me. I appreciate you setting me straight.

Also? Fuck you.

Monday, July 6, 2009

More Adventures in Troubleshooting

Today, with some help from a coworker, I finally got around to unraveling the mystery of a trouble sheet that came in last week. No major issue, just slightly weird. I email the person who reported the problem and gave her the details on why it wasn’t really a problem – i.e. yeah, we know, it’s inconvenient, but there's nothing we can do about it, and here’s why it shows up this way.

She then proceeds to come down to my floor and look for me to tell me that I must be wrong, there’s no way that there’s not a problem. Luckily, my coworker intercepted her and fetched up some technicians to explain to this stupid cow why I was right.

Allow me to dispense some Totally Amazing Advice: If you’re going to ask for help correcting a problem you have no goddamned knowledge of or experience with, don’t tell the people who know how to fix it that they’re wrong.

Seriously, lady? Fuck you. Just because I gave you an answer you don’t like doesn’t mean it’s not the answer. I’m not a mouth-breathing customer service rep over here. I’m a tech specialist who consulted with electrical engineers on your issue (you know, just in case it was legitimate), and you’re gonna tell us we’re wrong because you don’t like what we tell you? Your skill is typing, and you know better than me? No. No, you don’t, and actually, I’d wager there is precious little in this fucking life you know better than me, unless it’s how to be a fucking retard, because you’ve pretty much got that whole area wrapped up. And good luck getting your tech problems handled in the future, because God knows if there’s anything we fancy-pants tech folks like, it’s a glorified stenographer who questions our knowledge about data collection. Can you fuckin' dig it?

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Rock On, America.

Dear America -

Thanks for being pretty awesome. I mean, not really, but compared to most of the other countries on the planet, you're a righteous dude. It is my understanding that in other places, chicks get stoned for being uppity bitches, which is strange, since that's the exact same way I make most of my friends. Those broads should definitely come here, because we love that shit.

Also, thanks for welcoming my drunken ancestors. They left lands of much booze (Ireland and Germany) to come here and have different booze. And fall into lives of crime, but that's neither here nor there. Besides, we all liked New York enough to stay, and eventually achieved the American Dream - the generations transitioning from Drunken Unemployable Micks to Drunken Fancy-Pants College Graduates (sure, it took like 100 years, but all that boozing slows us down).

Anyway, dude, thanks for sucking way less than all the other places I could live. I could really do without the disgusting Walmart-topia that is the entire middle section of the country, but I don't live there, so fuck 'em.

Here's to you, USA! I salute you with tall boys from the bodega and an obvious fear of the sun.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Misanthropy Briefs: STFU, self.

You ever have one of those moments/hours/days when you think, “Wow. Maybe I should just shut the fuck up for once”? I’ve been having those a lot lately.

You know, the urge to delete your Facebook, your Twitter, and your stupid fucking blog that no one reads. I babble on endlessly and stupidly in the online arena, and really? Not a single fucking person cares. I offer no insight, I’m not charming or witty, and I spew vitriol everywhere (which, by the way, I sense makes me quite attractive to the men out there – which is a rant for another day). What the hell am I doing?

I fear I’m becoming one of those people who you’d like to walk up to, tap them gently on the shoulder, and say, “Stop. Fucking. Talking. No one gives a shit.” I mean, Christ, I’m even annoying myself lately with my desperate need for attention, so I can’t even imagine how annoyed everyone else is with me.

Come on – you didn’t really think my misanthropy wasn’t turned inward, too. As much as I hate you, I hate me more.